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P.
Claire stared at it. Then she looked at the crib rail, where the clip dangled, broken.
S-O-_-H-I-E.
She’d made it with her own hands.
“What was she choking on?”
***
I remembered the clip then. A week after we brought Sophie home, I’d found her on the couch, stringing wooden beads onto it. They spelled S-O-P-H-I-E.
“Isn’t she a little young for that? Loose beads shouldn’t go near the crib.”
“It’s a pacifier clip, not a necklace. I’ll hang it on the crib rail.”
I’d let it go.
***
At the hospital, the doctor confirmed it. The bead had snapped off the clip, and Sophie had put it in her mouth.